


Rise of the Sith

by presidentsinplaid



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, dark side, everyone you love will die, i mean it's star wars, more like alternate storytelling, no jar jar, obviously major character death, random original characters that help the plot, the most ironic series about hope ever made, yes there's violence idk how graphic it is but the warning is there just in case, you really don't care about them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidentsinplaid/pseuds/presidentsinplaid
Summary: What if the prequels had a plot? In which Anakin gets a believable character arc, Luke and Leia are born, Obi-Wan is sassy as fuck, Padme actually acts like the badass that she is, and it all makes sense, to an extent.





	1. Prologue

It was a night so still it could not be described as calm, with the air itself hanging over ground barely illuminated by the scratch of a moon overhead and the sound of the huffed breaths of a boy struggling to sleep echoing in the silence.

This was the Jedi training camp deep in the forests of Naboo, where six children had been sent to learn from Jedi Master Bex Toosu. They were sleeping peacefully, unprepared for attack, because why would they be? The Dark Side had not been strong in centuries. This was no time for paranoia, not this one fateful night out of thousands.

Bex was the first to rise as shadows cloaked the camp, tendrils of darkness twisting their way through the air and drawing a path for the figure materialising from the fog. His silhouette itself was hardly visible in the night, nothing more than a black-robed figure melting into the gloom as he rose above the grouped children. As his feet touched solid ground he paused for a second, leaving just enough time for a hopeless Bex to meet his eyes.

His lightsaber buzzed to life, glowing red shooting out both ends as he spun it in his hand, and Bex was reaching for hers but was hours too late, and as she was cut down by the fire he was wielding only then did the children awaken- one just in time to see their master crumple to the ground, the rest after the screams started- and in less than a minute the sound had faded away and the bodies lay still, and the hooded figure turned and walked away from the smoke rising from the ground, leaving the camp with the mist hanging over it like a shroud. 

And as his cloak snapped behind him, on a dusty red planet in a far away system, a boy named Anakin Skywalker jolted awake as the whispers surrounding his mind started to scream.


	2. The Declaration: Padmé

As long as any story has been told, the people of Naboo had lived in peaceful coexistence with the rest of the galaxy. This was a planet never touched by war, because why would they be? They prided themselves on acceptance and understanding, offering the sanctuary of their home to any individual, compromising whenever possible. Until they couldn’t anymore. Until that fateful day when Padmé Amidala took the throne and made a speech that would change the galaxy, sending a hurricane of events spiralling out of control. 

She couldn’t have known, of course, that a decision she regretted being forced to make would be the necessary evil that sent the Republic crumbling into dust; she’d thought she was protecting her people. All people. Which she succeeded in doing, in the end, because decades later the galaxy was bathed in golden light after three people (and a Wookie) finished the fight that she’d died laying the framework for, but in doing so she lost everything, shouldering the weight of the sky alone to ensure that no one let her down. Because Padmé's downfall would be everything that made her a great leader, and she never wavered, never broke, despite her whole world crashing down on her. 

That comes much later. For now, she had to make a speech encouraging a peaceful race to fight, make a decision to ally with the most underhanded rebels in the galaxy, go on a mission with two Jedi who would later on probably wish that anyone else had been chosen, and accidentally light the fuse to a galactic disaster.

The Naboo, a mass of colour in front of the palace rippling like the sea behind it, of course didn’t know that their queen’s first speech would change their lives. After all, good leaders don’t declare war on their first day; they don’t set traditions alight or tear up alliances. But Padme was never going to be good. She was great, although never intentionally so, and so she went to war not only because she had to, but to find peace- not the most traditional method of doing so, sure, but nothing about her story fit any guidelines. 

A story that began with a promise. 

“People of Naboo, it is my regret that this is my first act as your leader, but it is necessary nonetheless. We are at war.” There were no gasps; no shocked screams from the people below. Instead there was a silence so tight it seemed as if the whole planet was holding its breath, and Padmé nearly choked on it before continuing. “The Gungans, previously thought to be our allies, have turned on us. Not only was the Port of Nadar set alight, but I have just received word that six younglings and their Master, training in our forests, were killed in cold blood last night. And we may have lived in peace throughout history, but from today, we are going to fight to the last breath to defend our world, and to defend all those whose lives should never have been lost.” 

What else could she say? There were no words that would soften the blow of the deaths or the shock of war, and so she stepped back from the podium once deafening applause broke the suffocating silence, managing a nod and a smile before re-entering the palace. The second that the doors closed, separating her from her people, she leaned her forehead against the cool wall, eyes closed as she took a shaky breath. 

This was it. She was a queen for less than a day and her planet was at war, and it was far, far too late to take any of it back, and what was she going to do? 

“Queen Amidala. The Senate is expecting you.” It was Sabé, one of her handmaidens. 

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Padmé shuddered, standing up straight again. “Thank you. And, Sabé?” 

“Yes?” She lifted her eyes to meet her friend’s, twisting her hands together to hide their shaking. “How do I look?”

Sabé’s lips twitched in a smile. “Like a queen.” 

That was the vote of confidence that Padmé needed to prepare herself for an onslaught of criticism when she entered the meeting room- the Naboo Senate were judgemental on their best day- but was instead met with approving nods, which was as close to acceptance as she’d ever gotten. 

“People of the Senate, I assume you know what we’re here to discuss.” She slid into her chair at the head of the table, relieved to not have to defend her actions for the first time that day. 

Sorcha, leader of one of the Southern districts, gestured at the people grouped around the table. “War, I presume.” 

“Care to be more specific?” Governor Tol’s fingers danced across the wood, an incessant tapping in time with Padmé’s rapidly increasing heartbeat. 

“We need military allies. Naboo has never needed any, so we don’t want to look desperate by begging for agreements now, under threat, and we also want fair deals, which is again difficult considering that we're in a time of crisis.” Padmé paused. “Do any of our trade agreements include stipulations that could allow for military support?” 

“No.” 

“But you’ve found a solution?” 

“It’s my job to.” Tol pointed at one of the planets on the map in the centre of the table. “Tatooine.” 

“Tatooine? Have we ever even traded with them?” 

“No, but we can ally with them now.” 

“With all due respect, Governor-” Sorcha was leaning back in his chair in a way that didn’t at all suggest respect, “-Tatooine is a dying planet; what use could they be?”

“Its people have been fighting their whole lives, and we need experienced soldiers training our people to fight.” 

“So? Tatooine is a warzone full of rebel factions. They’re not exactly highly trained.” 

“They are experienced, and not only would they be willing to come to our aid in exchange for supplies, but Tatooine’s also one of the only places that the Gungans won’t think we’d go. We’d be at a massive strategic advantage, and they’re in a worse position than we are, so they won’t exploit the deal." Tol finished, waving his hand at Sorcha, daring him to argue again.

“I’ll admit, Governor, I’m impressed.” This was the closest that Sorcha had ever gotten to an apology, and Tol knew it, diverting his attention back to Padmé. 

“If you had all this figured out you would have signed an agreement already.” Padmé shook her head. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“There’s no official agreement. I have a contact, Jeilon. He commands a significant sector of rebels, and is willing to divert some of them to our effort if you meet with him and discuss our strategy.” 

Sorcha frowned. “We don’t have a strategy.” 

“We’ll have one by the time that he arrives.” Padmé moved to stand up from the table. “Where is he now?” 

“He’s a warlord whose planet is constantly under attack. He can’t leave Tatooine-” Tol hesitated, and Padmé jumped in. 

“But I can go there. I’ll leave immediately.” 

“You’re the ruler of the planet. You can’t risk your life on a deal with a criminal.” Sorcha glanced sideways at Tol. 

“I can’t ask my people to risk their lives if I’m not willing to do the same.” 

“That’s different.” 

“No,” she rose to her feet, “It’s not.” 

“Queen Amidala-” 

“I am leaving with or without your support, Sorcha.” 

“You have it,” Tol interjected, his glare warning Sorcha to keep quiet. “I spoke to Master Yoda of the Jedi Council immediately after my discussion with Jeilon. He has agreed to send two Jedis to travel with you to Tatooine.” 

“I don’t need an entourage, Tol.” 

“Jedis are peacekeepers, something that you’ll need on that planet. This is not up for discussion.”  
“Governor…” 

“You understand that we are doing this for your own good.” 

“This is our fight, not the Jedis'. We shouldn't be forcing them to become involved in this.”

“You aren’t.” A man strode into the room, closely followed by another. “We volunteered.” 

“Good timing.” Sorcha raised his eyebrows. 

“We do know how to make an entrance.” The older man turned to Padmé, “Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“And you, Queen Amidala.” 

“Padmé.” She shook his hand before facing the Senate once more. “Thank you, Representatives of the People. Governor Tol, you will take charge in my absence.” 

Sorcha tipped an imaginary glass in her direction. “Best of luck, Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there's action and plot and actual interesting content in the next chapter; I haven't fallen into the prequel trap of countless scenes of sitting and talking, I just needed a legitimate reason for them to go to Tatooine, which yes, I have decided is now a planet undergoing civil war. Moisture farming comes later.


	3. The Sacrifice: Obi-Wan

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a great Jedi, at least eventually, but at this point, he didn’t consider himself to account for much, which he didn’t- the galaxy was full of Padawans and he wasn’t committing genocide or stopping wars or anything that would warrant the slightest hint of recognition from anyone- but he would, and fairly soon, because Padmé Amidala and her army of handmaidens might be ruling Naboo, but Obi-Wan would soon take on the training of another Jedi. A Jedi who, like him, would be great, but for the one flaw that haunted every potential Jedi, every almost that never quite made it due to the chink in their armour preventing them from reaching their full power: the Code; the map laying out the makings of a great Jedi, all of whom fit together to make the Jedi Order.

It was ironic, really, it being called an order when it was nothing more than a tangled web desperately clinging onto the precipice above the screaming of the chaos that was the only thing that truly did rule the galaxy.

But Obi-Wan did follow the Code, because there are certain things that one latches on to when they have nothing else, and for him, a strict set of logical rules was the best thing to focus on. You’re either born great or you aren’t, but you can choose to be good, and so he did, because that was why he was here: not greatness, just peace. Harmony. Every impossibility that the Code spoke of, really.

And even before he nearly died, Obi-Wan was exhausted, so as the ship landed on Tatooine amidst a cloud of dust he jolted awake from his doze, Qui-Gon on his feet in an instant, reaching out a hand to help Padmé up from her seat before looking to Obi-Wan.

“Are you ready?”

“Master, we know the plan.” Obi-Wan’s hand rested on the lightsaber at his waist, attempting to keep his gaze steady so as to do nothing to betray his rising inner panic. Handling a border dispute and protecting a queen on her way to ensure the survival of her race didn’t exactly carry the same weight.

“Qui-Gon?” Padmé’s eyes were glued to the desert stretching beyond the window, a dark mass breaking the endless horizon, encroaching on the ship with dizzying speed. “I think the plan might have to change.” 

As the crowd came into view, a disorganised swarm of people with weapons raised over their heads, shouting and shoving as they each tried to lead the charge, the fluttering in Obi-Wan’s stomach started to inch its way up his throat, and it took him longer than it should have to ask the obvious question.

“Who are they?”

“Soldiers from one of the rebel factions. But that doesn’t matter.” Qui-Gon started to pace up and down the small ship, shaking his head. “What matters is that we get past them without getting killed.”

“I’ll fight them off.” The words were out of Obi-Wan’s mouth before he knew it, and at Padmé and Qui-Gon’s stunned silence he repeated it. “I’ll hold them here. You go on.” 

Qui-Gon stopped in front of him, eyes looking directly into his. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Master.” He was praying that Qui-Gon wouldn't ask if he was ready to do this; they both knew he wasn't.

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé glanced at him from across the ship, “Don’t sacrifice your life for me.”

“I’m not, Padmé. I’m doing my job.” His job which involved risking his life on a regular basis, which meant that this was just the average day to him. But there was nothing to be afraid of, because there is no death, there is the Force.

Incidentally, that knowledge did nothing for him, which meant that he probably should have seen the warning signs when chanting the Code didn’t calm him down as it usually did- this was no ordinary planet, no ordinary day, and no ordinary mission.

It also struck his mind that this was the first conversation that he and Padmé had ever had, and that most first conversations aren’t of the laying-your-life-down-for-me variety, but he figured it would probably serve them well in the future. And also that this wasn’t the time for speculating on the first sentence Padmé had ever said directly to him. “Go.”

Qui-Gon opened the ship’s door, but hesitated before stepping off. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you, Master.”

The two disappeared from view, and Obi-Wan gave himself half a second to get his life together before jumping out of the ship. Any more than that and he’d talk himself out of it.

His lightsaber buzzed to life as the first wave of rebels met him, piercing straight through chests and as strangled hisses escaped their throats as they sank to the ground, those behind them kicking their bodies aside as they strode forward, weapons raised. His next strikes were aimed, taking out those nearest to him, before a shot struck home, knocking every scrap of air from his lungs as it took him every last ounce of energy to keep himself upright. 

He focused, pushing a hand forward and sending the men toppling to the ground, giving him a valuable minute to regain control before the men unleashed a hail of blaster fire that Obi-Wan was so focused on blocking that he didn’t see the man behind him unsheathe a knife.

But someone else did.

In a fraction of a second, the man was tackled to the ground, knocked out after a single punch from someone who’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and Obi-Wan found himself turning to face the boy who’d just saved his life, who, face streaked with dirt and clothes torn to reveal scars underneath, grinned, looking up through strands of sweaty hair. “Anakin Skywalker.”

There was nothing Obi-Wan could say in his shock other than the automatic response. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Anakin plucked the man’s blaster from where it had fallen to the sand, flipping it in his hand before shooting another one of the soldiers almost lazily, squinting against the sun.

“You might want to get back to the fight.” He sprang to his feet, nodding at the rebels left surrounding the two of them.

Obi-Wan hesitated before cutting through the next wave, taking a second to shout a single word to Anakin, not knowing why he was hoping that the boy would say yes.

“Together?” 

Anakin nodded, the playfulness in his eyes fading to something much colder as his muscles tensed, ready for attack. “Let’s go.”

There was a difference, Obi-Wan thought, between fighting alongside Anakin and Qui-Gon- the difference between style and strength and efficiency and desperation; between someone who’d been training their whole life and someone who’d been forced into a fight that they didn’t deserve. The difference between a Jedi and a soldier.

That didn’t stop them from working together. Obi-Wan could throw someone at Anakin and trust him to handle it; could duck at Anakin’s call and hear blaster fire overhead; could stand with Anakin’s back pressed to his and know that he was covered on all bases.

And yet, when the fight ended, and the two were surrounded by bodies that Anakin had largely been responsible for, Obi-Wan felt a tinge of regret at forcing someone else into his battle, so he stepped back, making the decision to meet Padmé and Qui-Gon as soon as he could, the decision to meet them at Jeilon’s headquarters without knowing where or what they were. But Anakin might, which gave him an excuse to spend more time with the person who had just held his life in his hands. What do you say to someone after that?

“Do you know anyone called Jeilon?” He glanced at Anakin. “I’m supposed to be meeting at his base.”

“Short run that way.” Anakin pointed behind the ship. “Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you. And for the help.” An inadequate statement, sure, but he couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Not a problem.” Anakin waved a hand dismissively. “Be careful with Jeilon. Everyone at that base will either want to kill you or him.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Obi-Wan placed his lightsaber back at his belt, and was about to leave when Anakin spoke again.

“How are you going to get in?”

“Sorry?” Obi-Wan turned back, because of course there was yet another obstacle between him and the rest of the mission.

“The base. How are you planning on entering? Jeilon’s guards won’t just let you walk in.” At this point, he couldn't tell if Anakin was asking because he was genuinely curious, because he wanted to know what the hell Obi-Wan was doing, or because of some other ulterior motive, but he went with the first one, because hey. He'd saved his life. That tends to make you want to believe the best in people.

Shit. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Because he was supposed to go in with Padme, but he couldn’t exactly tell Anakin that.

“I know someone at the gates. Areeba. She owes me a favour; she’ll let you pass.” There was a glint in Anakin’s eye that Obi-Wan would come to recognise in time, a wicked sparkle lit with nothing but curiosity and excitement and danger. “I’d have to go with you, of course."

“You don’t mind?” He asked, and Anakin just smirked. 

“Somebody’s got to watch your back.”


	4. The Ambush: Padmé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so we have 200 reads on this and I'm pretty sure only half of them were me, so thank you all so much

Padmé pressed herself against the side of the ship as she inched her way around it, tipping her head back to look at the sky before turning back to Qui-Gon, who nodded at the stretch of sand ahead of them.

“Jeilon’s base is behind that dune over there,” he whispered. “We couldn’t land any closer without drawing attention to ourselves.”

“I think we did that anyway.” Padmé willed herself to ignore the sounds of Obi-Wan battling the rebels, and Qui-Gon ignored her comment.

“It’s not far, but there’s no cover, so we need to hurry. On my count.”

As one, they sprinted across the sand, Padmé unable not to think about the fact that throwing herself behind sand dunes for cover on her way to make a deal with one of the most dishonest men in the galaxy hadn’t exactly been one of the things that she’d expected to do as Naboo’s leader, but that train of thought was pushed to the back of her mind as they approached Jeilon’s base, with her needing a moment to comprehend the fortress lying in front of her. Warlords ruled in Tatooine, and Jeilon may be one of them, but she hadn’t understood his power until now, not until she was met with the sandstone structures that melted into the sand and sprawled across the desert, barely visible even if you knew what you were looking for and encased by a wall of tangled wire so densely twisted that any hint of light shining through was as distorted as the palace it protected.

“Shall we?” Qui-Gon asked, and she jumped slightly before nodding.

The entrance to the complex was the only break in the wire, a rusted metal gate guarded by three soldiers whose bodies were currently piled atop each other, blood spilling out onto the sand, and before Padmé knew what she was doing, she was on her knees beside them, fingers searching for a pulse.

“Anything?” Qui-Gon crouched beside her and she shook her head, pushing herself to her feet.

“Somebody got here before we did.” She pulled her blaster from her pocket, tapping it against her leg in an attempt to control her heartbeat. “We need to find Jeilon.”

“Stand back.” Qui-Gon’s lightsaber sliced through the gate’s lock with ease, and he rushed through it, waving for her to follow him.

The inside of the base was as bland as the outside, with nothing visible but sheets of stone branching off in every direction possible, some twisting deep underground, and Padmé couldn’t help but agree with Qui-Gon when he sighed and said, “We’re definitely going to get lost.”

“Where would Jeilon be?”

“Where would you go if you were a warlord whose base was under attack?”

“Underground.”

“Exactly.” 

He stepped into the darkest tunnel with a shiver, and she instantly felt why. Tatooine’s two suns might bake its surface, but failed to penetrate the thick stone of the building, the tunnels themselves emanating a dense cold that drew up towards them that thickened with every step into the heart of the base. Padmé trailed her fingers along the rough wall as they walked, withdrawing her hand as it brushed something damp and shuddering as she realised that the walls were sticky with blood.

“There’s an opening up ahead,” Qui-Gon murmured. “Be prepared for attack.”

Padmé nodded, gripping her blaster as they burst into the small, well-lit room, awaiting blaster fire that never came because Jeilon’s body was slumped in a corner with his head metres apart. She winced, unable to stop herself from looking away as they walked further into the room, just in time for half a dozen soldiers to swarm out of the tunnel, blasters armed and ready.

She spun and pulled the trigger, firing into the crowd as she heard the sound of a lightsaber behind her. As the soldiers descended on them she was forced to fight hand to hand or risk hitting Qui-Gon, jabbing elbows into sides and pressing knives wherever she could reach.

A blow came from Padmé's side, and she crashed to the ground in a fraction of a second, ribs scraped white-hot against the fractured stone. Her blaster flew out of her hand and skidded out of her reach, and her brain wasn't working fast enough for her to block the fist that slammed into her shoulder with what felt like the force of a mountain. She fumbled for her dagger, finally catching hold of it, and squinted her eyes, trying to block away the darkness creeping in on her vision as she shoved the knife upwards as hard as she could, twisting it when she felt it make contact with flesh until the man’s body collapsed on top of her and she could push it away, half-dragging herself out from underneath it and wrenching the dagger out as she did.

She staggered back to her feet in time to see Qui-Gon Force-push the last of the men, coming towards her once he was finished.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, wincing at the ripples of pain that the movement sent through her arm as she shoved her dagger back into its sheath. “You?”

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak there was movement at the door, and they both raised their weapons again.

“It’s me!” Obi-Wan squeaked, entering the room with a boy trailing after him, and Padmé sighed and let the blaster fall to her side. He was alive.

“Who’s this?” Qui-Gon nodded at the boy, and Obi-Wan turned to him as if he had forgotten he was there.

“This is Anakin Skywalker.”

“And why is he here?"

In that second, the silhouetted figure of a man appeared behind Anakin, and Padmé, without thinking, fired, the blast missing Anakin by a centimetre- Anakin, who had fired at the same time as Padmé in the opposite direction. Her direction. They simultaneously glanced down, seeing the bodies of their would-be killers, and then their eyes met again.

“That’s why,” Obi-Wan said, but Padmé barely heard him over the rush of sound flooding her ears as her eyes fixated on Anakin’s, because it was the darkest twist of fate that they’d met like this; that the first time they saw each other was with weapons raised in the other’s direction, but in times of war there is nothing else to do but find the slightest bit of hope and pray that it’s enough, and Anakin’s eyes reflected the lakes on Naboo and his hair was the sand that he would come to curse and this was everything and every part of both of them and they didn’t crash into each other so much as fall. Because this, more than anything, would be like coming home. 

And they would share their first kiss under the heat of the sun and watch their lives go up in nothing but smoke and dust and watch empires collapse at the flick of their hands, but above all Anakin would be the galaxy’s only hope and then its greatest destruction. Their paths were predestined in the stars and in that moment they couldn’t do anything but wait, because if they had known then what would become of them they would have fruitlessly tried to turn away, because however hard you try, you can’t change your destiny, and these two would end up in the same place across any universe no matter what path they took.

Fortunately, they say that the journey is greater than the destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this is short and not great, but I've been dedicating my life to the first Anakin chapter (which is up next) so please, bear with me


	5. The Discovery: Anakin

In stories, when they talk about love, they always mention eyes meeting across a crowded room and time grinding to a halt and everything else fading away but two people. Anakin, of course, had always thought that was bullshit, because not only was he a realistic human being, but love was a luxury saved for royals and legends, not something often found by soldiers on cursed dusty planets. So he figured that, when he locked eyes with the girl in front of him and he forgot how to breathe and his mind was no longer a battlefield, he was reacting to the shock of owing someone his life. And he was probably right, at that point- they were kids who had never met before- but she was already a royal, and the two of them were on the verge of becoming legends, and he wouldn’t be right for long.

Before he knew it he was halfway across the room, hand stretched towards her, trying not to stutter as he said his name. “Anakin.”

Anakin Skywalker, who had been fighting people like Jeilon his whole life, and not because they were on opposite sides, but so that he could find some sort of food or shelter, or anything to keep him going until the next morning. Anakin, who had never had the luxury of believing in magic or gods or good and evil and was about to be slapped in the face with it.

But she took his hand with a smile and a “Padmé,” and her hand was in his for far too much time but he didn’t really want to let go, and it was only when they were interrupted that he stepped back, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“Qui-Gon Jinn.” The man shook his hand. “I believe my Padawan and I owe you a great debt.”

“I was just passing by, really, so-”

“Anakin. Thank you.” His next words came in a hushed tone, quietly urgent. “I’d like to speak to you, actually, once we’re out of here.”

At this point Anakin was torn between the fact that he had been thanked more in the past hour than he had in the past ten years and his confusion at what a Jedi Master could possibly want to speak to him about, and so he just nodded and stayed quiet, following Qui-Gon as he exited the bunker.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as Qui-Gon ducked behind one of the buildings, waving Obi-Wan and Padmé on ahead.

“What do you know about the Force?” Qui-Gon had completely ignored his question, so Anakin figured he was in the clear for now.

“It’s something the Jedis use,” he shrugged. The Force. Jedis. Light and dark. They had never held much meaning for him; if there were certain people who could use lightsabers and act like heroes then that was great, but he was stuck on a real planet with real problems and fantasising about the supernatural saving him or anyone else was pointless. Not that he would tell Qui-Gon, an actual Jedi, any of that.

“It’s more than that.” Qui-Gon’s hand hovered over the sand, fingers splayed out before he clenched them into a fist. “It doesn’t just surround all living things, it’s created by them and fed by their very existence, some more than others.” At Anakin’s still-blank look, he sighed and continued. “Force-sensitivity is created when one is powered by the Force itself. It’s a symbiotic relationship, giving energy and receiving strength.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you can use the Force and its power in ways that others cannot even dream of.” Qui-Gon’s gaze grew more intense, if that was even possible, and he nodded at Anakin. 

“You as in someone generally, right?” At this point, Anakin didn’t know if he wanted Qui-Gon to say yes or no.

“Yes, but right now, Anakin, I’m talking about you.”

Anakin nearly forgot all about his determined hatred of all things Force, but managed to control himself at the last second. “How can you know that?”

“You learn to feel the Force: the difference in how it surrounds those who can control it; those who possess its power. The way it shapes their destiny.” Qui-Gon paused, looking around for a moment. “Try it now. Feel it and use it.” 

What Anakin wanted to say was something along the lines of ‘I don’t think an energy field is leading my life choices,’ but that energy field was the entire reason for his beginning, middle, and end, along with all of the torture in between, and so he said “Yes,” and he’d never made a worse decision, because it’s a lot easier to repress something when you don’t know what it can do, but that wasn’t the immediate problem, which was that he’d just told Qui-Gon he would use the Force to do something, but he had no idea how to use the Force, and why the hell had he said yes, exactly?

“Yes, you’ll-”

He couldn’t help interrupting. “How?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Stop looking for something that cannot be seen.” He gestured at the open landscape. “Find yourself amidst all this. The Force will be there, keeping you from being alone.”

And so Anakin did. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and tried to focus on something aside from the heat of the suns scorching his back and the sand that moved as if it was alive and Qui-Gon beside him, and after the fifth minute of just waiting for some Force-inspired epiphany, he groaned and opened his eyes, meeting Qui-Gon’s surprisingly understanding gaze.

“Let go of your doubts, Anakin,” he hummed, turning back to the horizon.

“What if you’re just wrong?” Anakin dug his fingers into the burning sand, determinedly not looking at Qui-Gon. “Maybe I just can’t use the Force.” It was strange how that was suddenly the worst thing in the world; how within an hour he’d gone from indifferent to begging anyone who was listening to give him a chance before they snatched it away again. Although that seemed fairly accurate when it came to his life, and expecting Jedi to be the exception was almost as ridiculous as actually believing that things could be different.

“Take the chance or don’t, Anakin,” Qui-Gon shrugged. “But enough half-hearted attempts. Commit.”

So this was the choice, whether he would rather live the rest of his probably short life on Tatooine, fighting every day, or if he wanted to throw everything he’d ever known away and have faith in something he had no proof was more than the ramblings of men desperate for a cause. But the thing about having nothing left to lose was that you didn’t care much about the odds, and so he let his eyes close and his body relax, and for the first time in his life he listened to the darkest corners of his mind, the shadows that grew into vines that formed the noose that tightened around his body, threatening to take control.

Commit, he thought, and then he opened the gates and let the monsters swarm in.

It was a testament to the fact that Qui-Gon was there that he retained some semblance of control, throwing his body against the door in his struggle to stop himself from being overrun as the air around him began to shake, slowly at first, grains of sand starting to lift from the planet’s surface as a faint breeze ruffled his hair, and then his hands clenched into fists and the wind picked up and the sand rose into a tower and Anakin was standing there in the eye of a storm of his own making, a tempest swirling around him fuelled by years after years of repressed anger and fury and hatred and everything else that threatened to take over-

And he had to take it back, to stop this before it consumed him and everyone else on this godforsaken planet, and through the haze of dust and darkness and a power greater than he’d ever felt before, he focused, slamming a hand down to the ground as the storm collapsed around him, sand spraying outwards with such force that Jeilon’s once-impenetrable buildings crumbled and the winds started to scream and anybody within a mile radius was thrown to the floor. Within a second, it was over, and Anakin lay in the sand, watching droplets of sweat close to sizzle on its surface as he gasped for breath.

Qui-Gon, beside him, looked remarkably unscathed, probably due to some Force-type crap, and he nudged Anakin into a sitting position as he surveyed their surroundings.

“I told you so,” he said, sounding oddly satisfied with recent events, and Anakin looked at him incredulously.

Anakin didn’t know how much time he spent gulping down air as if he’d been drowning, but he knew that it took him a while to be able to rasp the words, “What happened?”

“I believe that you just realised your powers.” Qui-Gon settled himself in the sand, holding up a hand when Anakin moved as if to stand up. “Don’t move yet. It can be…taxing, your first time experiencing the strength of the Force.”

“Can I do it again?” Because that wasn’t full strength and he really wanted to see what that was, and also that was the first time in his life that he hadn't felt totally helpless and why wouldn't he want that feeling back?

“Later,” Qui-Gon chuckled. “For now, it’s best that we wait until I’ve spoken to the Council.”

“The Council?”

“The Jedi Council.” His calm tone had the opposite of the desired effect on Anakin at hearing his next words. “About training you.”

“Are you sure?” The words were out of Anakin’s mouth before he could stop them, because he had never seen it coming that the Jedi might be the exception after all.

“Quite.” Qui-Gon rose to his feet, offering Anakin his hand. “If you can stand, we should go to Padmé and Obi-Wan. Staying here for longer than necessary is risky business.”

“I wonder what that’s like,” Anakin grumbled, but accepted Qui-Gon’s hand, shaking his head to clear the darkness from his vision once he was standing. The good thing about monochrome sand dunes was that even when the world was spinning it still looked pretty much the same, so it didn’t take too much extra effort to walk in a vaguely straight line, even if he could barely lift his feet as they walked and Qui-Gon definitely knew that he was faking.

Obi-Wan and Padmé were covered in sand when they reached them, which made Anakin feel slightly guilty, because they seemed like genuinely decent people and you don’t usually keep those around by attacking them with Force-induced sand explosions, but hey. It wasn’t like it had been intentional.

“Are sandstorms like that common around here?” Anakin sighed, relieved that Obi-Wan- for now- didn’t know that that had been him. Recognition might be nice, but in his experience it always led to someone being an asshole.

“Not usually.” He remembered to respond just in time to reaffirm his status as somebody who actually lived on the planet, not an idiot who stood there gaping at Obi-Wan.

“What now?” Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, who in turn looked to Padmé.

“I suppose we should head back to Naboo. The mission was a failure, after all.”

“We’re already here; why not stay until nightfall?” Padmé suggested.

“I don’t think there’s much to do around here,” Qui-Gon said, remembering Anakin after a moment. “Sorry.”  
“No, you’re right.”

“What were you doing before you stopped to help me?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin grinned just thinking about it.

“Oh, you’ll love it. Let’s go.”

"This is still unsafe," Qui-Gon said as Padmé jogged to catch up to Anakin.

“Where are we going?”

 

It was dusk when the four of them were walking back to the ship, Padmé still laughing.

“I did promise you the Tatooine experience,” Anakin pointed out, and Obi-Wan just shook his head.

“What happened in there?”

“I will definitely tell you. At some point in time. Maybe never.” Padmé shrugged. “Who knows?”

“You know,” Obi-Wan said. “But to be honest I don’t think I want to.”

“That’s probably true.”

“What I do want to know is what that is.” Obi-Wan nodded towards the horizon, where the largest ship Anakin had ever seen was touching down with a hiss that he could hear despite their distance.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s more than a cargo ship.” Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan aside, speaking to him for a moment, before turning back to Anakin and Padmé. “We need to hide. Now.”

“I don’t live far from here; we can go there.” Anakin said, and so they ended up in ducking under the scrap of cloth that he called a home, Qui-Gon taking his mother aside upon meeting her.

“I believe that your son should come with me and my Padawan,” he murmured, “So that we can train him as a Jedi.”

“He would leave Tatooine?”

“Yes.”

“He’s capable?”

“I think he could be a part of history.” Qui-Gon paused. “I understand that this is a lot to think about, but-”

“Take him.” She shook her head.

“Shmi…”

“No. Take him. Give him the chance that I never could.” Because she had no way of contacting Anakin’s father, and she might not be able to help cursing her child to a damned life on this planet but she could certainly help him leave, and there was no way that she would ever stand in the way of her son’s greatness. Of his only opportunity at a life beyond survival. “Please.”

His gaze softened. “I will.”

“And the situation outside?”

“You know?” 

“Not the details.” She straightened her back. “But I’ve lived here all my life. I know what ordinary evil is.”

“This is not ordinary.”

“I know. So I ask again, what do we do?”

“Obi-Wan and I will handle it. Anakin and Padmé can stay inside.”

Shmi nodded. In an instant Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were pushing their way outside, and for a blissful moment all was silent, before then the unmistakable sounds of battle once again rained down on Tatooine.


	6. The End of the Beginning: Obi-Wan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me twelve days to write this bullshit???

“You’ll tell him,” Qui-Gon murmured as they stepped out of the tent, “In case.”

*

When Obi-Wan did, he didn’t have to say anything. He knocked on the door and Aziz opened it, waving him inside with the hollow look that Obi-Wan too would adopt in ten years’ time.

“Don’t say it.”

“Okay.” Obi-Wan nodded. “But he- he told me not to tell you that he loves you, because you know that, and not to say that he’s sorry, because that’s boring, but I am.”

“What?”

“It’s my fault.”

“No.”

“Yes, it-”

“No, it wasn’t.” Aziz leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault. Or mine. Or whoever it was that did it, incidentally.”

“A Sith Lord.” Obi-Wan paused. “But he jumped in front of me. It was my life that he saved. It was me that wasn’t good enough to do what I should have been able to.”

“You and I both know there wasn’t a damn thing Qui-Gon did that he didn’t want to. Hell, he’s been defying the Council since before you were born.” He shrugged. “This isn’t the time for a pity party, Obi-Wan. I’m assuming he gave you a job to do.”

“How did you know?”

“Just go do it. Do your best. Honour him that way.”

“Alright. I just wanted to- you know.”

“I appreciate it.” Aziz clapped him on the shoulder, extending his other hand to him. “Best of luck, Obi-Wan.”

“No such thing,” he grinned, for a moment feeling like himself again.

“Qui-Gon would have disagreed with you there.”

“And he did.”

“I’ll just tell you to make your own, then.”

It was unsurprising that this was who Qui-Gon had chosen. “I do wish we could have known each other better.” They’d met twice before, and only briefly, and little did Obi-Wan know that as he was thinking of Aziz as his last connection to Obi-Wan the other man was thinking the same about him.

“As do I. I’ll need some time away from the Jedi lifestyle, but if this madness ever ends, it would be good to get to know you.”

“I’ll let you know if it does.”

“Thank you. He did regard you very highly, you know.”

What could he say? 

“May the Force be with you, Aziz.”

*

“That’s all.” He turned to Obi-Wan once more, the hint of a smile on his face as the black-cloaked figure approached them, “Just as we’ve practiced.”

“Because we’ve trained to fight the Sith?”

“Remember that session where you and Bex Toosu acted as a team against me? This is it again, but this time we’re on the same side."

“How else would it go?”

So they fought, first Qui-Gon in front of Maul and Obi-Wan behind, then the two coming from different sides in an attempt to close in on him, and then both in front, fruitlessly trying to push Maul back as he sliced and flipped and landed crouched perfectly stable with a wicked grin creeping across his face, and Obi-Wan struggled to block the dual-edged lightsaber and keep his focus and pretend that he was as strong as Qui-Gon to keep Maul’s attention on both of them rather than have him discard the fight with Obi-Wan in favour of solely fighting the only real Jedi on that sandy plain. Because when it came down to it, Obi-Wan saw himself as just a Padawan, and if no Jedi Master could best a Sith Lord, how could he hope to?

But then he didn’t have a choice, because Maul kicked Qui-Gon aside, and in the four seconds that it took for the older man to regain his footing it was Obi-Wan against Maul, a student who had no idea how to complete the test in front of him, and yet here he was, his life at risk for what was probably the seventh time that day, and there was only one thought going through his mind: I’m not ready. Not ready for this battle or the stakes that it carried or for his actions- one lonely man- to send ripples throughout the galaxy. 

Not ready to fight alone.

Obi-Wan had never had good reaction times, so when Maul struck the death blow, he didn’t notice until the saber had pierced Qui-Gon’s heart and he was the one screaming; didn’t comprehend the fact that Qui-Gon’s pushing him aside was the reason that he lay on the ground instead of crumpled in the sand until Maul was attacking once more and he barely had a second before he was blocking the strike on instinct, brain catching up in time for the adrenaline pouring into his veins to be replaced with the same rage that he’d spent all his training trying to let go of, and so he flipped to his feet. Shock flooded Maul’s face as he launched himself at the Sith, crashing down on him with every fragment of energy and power that he could find and forgetting that he was just another Padawan left alone.

And for a brief moment in time everything else stood still and he gave himself up to the Force and now he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, with each strike of his lightsaber deadlier than the last, because when Qui-Gon had referenced that training session he’d left out one crucial fact: Obi-Wan had lost, but he wouldn’t lose again, because this was the very essence of him, the simmering potential that Qui-Gon had somehow seen in him all those years ago, finding something when there was supposed to be nothing left, merciless and broken and kind all at the same time, and so when Maul’s death came, it came quickly, and he was gone before his cloak had fluttered to the ground.

Obi-Wan hadn’t seen that, of course; he was too busy running to Qui-Gon, who’d seen the fight through half-closed eyes. Who’d seen the boy he’d believed in for so long rise to the occasion. And that was why he’d done what he had. Obi-Wan couldn’t die, not when he had so much left to give. Qui-Gon was done. His work was complete, or at least close enough.

Not that he could tell Obi-Wan that.

“We can fix this.” Obi-Wan’s hands were searching for the wound, looking for some way to stop the inevitable, and Qui-Gon shook his head, the movement barely noticeable, huffing out a breath close to a laugh.

“There’s a hole ripped through me, Obi-Wan.”

“So? We’ve seen worse; we can-”

They had seen worse. Three days earlier they’d flown to Neimoidia to negotiate for the release of a prisoner, and in true Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon fashion everything had gone to shit- droid attacks, gas, doorways melting to reveal more waves of troops- and they’d made it through, even as Obi-Wan was shouting that they’d long surpassed potential for negotiations as they ran.

“Obi-Wan. We don’t have much time. Please, listen.”

The last time Qui-Gon had sounded so serious was when he’d told Obi-Wan about Aziz. When Obi-Wan had told him that yes, he upheld the Jedi Code stronger than anything, but he didn’t care if Qui-Gon had broken it.

“Anakin. Train him. Train the boy. You have to…you have to promise me, Obi-Wan. Promise me you’ll keep him in the Light.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Power is dangerous, Obi-Wan. It corrupts our ability to make certain decisions. Be careful of him. And of you. What is does...Obi-Wan?”

“Yes?” The word was barely audible.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “You’ve been a good apprentice. And you’re a much wiser man than I am.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, unable to stop a tear from slipping down his cheek. “No such thing, Master.”

“You will be.” 

Qui-Gon had seen it, of course, when the Council had appointed him to train Obi-Wan all those years ago. Had known, from their first meeting, that he would change the galaxy, for better or for worse.

“I can’t-”

“You have.”

He’d fought a Sith Lord and won. He had been willing to sacrifice his life for Qui-Gon and Padmé. He would make impossible decisions better than anyone, at least until the fatal moment when the same power that Qui-Gon had just spoken of would ruin him forever.

“What about tomorrow? Or the next day? Master Yoda always says to be mindful of the future.”

“Of course he’s right.” Qui-Gon managed to lift his hand to brush the tear from Obi-Wan’s cheek, using his last moments to reach for him. “But not at the expense of the moment.”

“I don’t think I want to remember this moment.”

Love might not be worth dying for in the eyes of the Jedi, but Qui-Gon would never for an instant regret his choice.

“Look around you. Look at where we are. Where we’ve been. Look at what we’ve achieved.”

Planets crossed. Systems gone. Lives lost and saved.

“We didn’t even complete the mission.”

“I think you’ll find that we did something infinitely more valuable.”

“What’s that?”

“We found them. Hope.” He coughed as the planet began to blur, sand dunes and tents and houses blurring into a yawning spiral waiting to draw him into the comfort of the darkness.

“No-”

“There’s more than one way to succeed. I’m proud of what we’ve done. And I’m proud of you, son."

“Master…”

Qui-Gon’s hand stilled on his cheek, the feather light touch disappearing as his arm fell beside him.

“Look, Obi-Wan,” he whispered, “I can see the stars.”

His head dropped back and his heart stopped, the only light left the reflection of the stars in his glassy eyes, and Obi-Wan couldn’t do anything but sit there for a long time.

He wasn’t ready.

*

Qui-Gon’s funeral was held on Naboo, at Padmé’s insistence that it was the least she could do. And as the drumrolls faded away and the doves flew into the night, in the flickering firelight Mace Windu and Yoda spoke, lips barely moving.

“There is no doubt that the mysterious warrior was a Sith,” Mace said, and Yoda nodded slowly.

“Always in two they come.”

“But which was destroyed, master or apprentice?”

In the same moment, the shadows danced across Chancellor Palpatine’s hooded face, for a fleeting second causing his handsome features to twist into something ancient and deadly before returning to their normal state; and if a smile played across his lips when Qui-Gon’s body disappeared from view, then no Jedi was focused on him enough to notice.

*

“You’re a teacher.”

“I am.” Aziz tilted his head to the side, trying to work out where Obi-Wan was going with this.

“You’ve seen beings grow up. Move on.”

“Yes.”

“What do you do when you feel unprepared for everything that you’re supposed to be doing?” Obi-Wan shook his head. “What if all that I can do is fail?”

“Qui-Gon? The boy?”

Qui-Gon, who’d left him alone. Anakin, whose fate was in his hands. Obi-Wan helplessly shrugged. “I’m not ready.”

“That’s the secret, Obi-Wan.” Aziz gave him a look so similar to Qui-Gon yet so different at the same time that Obi-Wan didn’t quite know where the twisting in his heart was coming from. “You hope you’ve done enough. You hope they make it through. You hope you made the right choice at the right time.”

“That’s the secret?” He asked, and Aziz’s soft smile was more than enough.

“They’re never ready.”

*

It was Anakin and Padmé who found him there, slumped against the ship after moving Qui-Gon, the pink light of the dawn doing nothing to hide his expression.

“Ready to go?” Padmé crouched beside him, her sympathetic gaze was nothing like the blaster-wielding warrior he’d seen earlier.

“Let’s get off this planet.”

“You should eat something first; it’s a long ride.”

“Are you going to let me say no?”

“Absolutely not. Anakin?”

“I know just the place.” He pulled Obi-Wan to his feet. “And I could use a drink.”

“I’m with you there.” Obi-Wan nudged Anakin as they started walking. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

And Padmé laughed as Anakin grumbled about how no, Obi-Wan, they were in civil war and that drinking age is the least of their problems, and their story only truly began here, with three people thrown into a life they weren’t ready for and never would be, finding the light in each other even as darkness hovered all around them.

And they walked into the sun together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol what is canon


	7. Fire, Sands, and a Half-Thought-Out Plan: Padmé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so four months later and I finally post again...I'd love to blame it on exams and writer's block but really I have no excuse. if anybody's still reading this there will be another chapter up tomorrow night (friday), and I promise I'm back to updating at least once a week now.

Six years later and the galaxy hadn’t improved much. Yes, the specific planets fighting each other had changed, but the premise was still the same: turmoil. War. The Jedi Council were doing their best, which when it came down to it wasn’t that great. And, of course, Padmé Amidala still lead Naboo, a Senator rather than Queen now in the face of democracy, joined by over fifty other planets in a coalition unrivalled by history, with her once-peaceful planet the centre of the war and her the one that those opposing her had to remove.

Fortunately, while all those years ago Padmé and her handmaidens were a group of well-dressed teenagers running a planet, they had since been training both with the soldiers and separately to turn themselves into something more. The handmaidens weren’t there to do her hair. They were the galaxy’s most elite fighting force, a group of dancers and assassins who could probably end this war in five minutes if they ever actually figured out who they were fighting against, which was part of the reason that it took four assassination attempts before the Naboo Senate finally decided to seek outside help, mostly because of Padmé’s insistence that it was fine. But Toll, the one person on the Senate who wasn’t afraid of her, remained Governor, which meant that he contacted the Jedi again and informed her that two would be on their way to investigate the situation.

“Because that went so well last time,” Sorcha- the only other member of the Senate who had held his position since the beginning of the war- muttered, and the entire table turned to look at him. “What? At least I’m honest.”

“He has a point, Governor,” Padmé said, glaring at Sorcha nonetheless.

“Which is why they’re not here to protect you. They’re merely trying to discover who is behind the attempts.”

“Why do the Jedi have to do that?” It couldn't be just her who didn't think of them as investigators.

“They contacted us about it first,” Toll shrugged. “I guess they’re involved somehow too.”

Padmé shook her head. "Fine. Who are they?"

“I believe you know them.” Toll glanced at the papers in front of him. “Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.”

*

Padmé and Obi-Wan had seen each other three times since the Tatooine mission.

The first was when he’d met with Toll to decide if the Jedi should continue training on Naboo after the Bex Toosu incident. It had been awkward, to say the least, with neither of them knowing how to greet the other, settling for a handshake on arrival and a half-wave on departure.

The second was during the Naboo Senate’s annual gala, when they spent the evening sipping overly expensive alcohol and gossiping about everyone in the room after Padmé convinced Obi-Wan that he didn’t have to be a Jedi for the night.

The third time was more natural. They ran into each other, hugged, talked for a minute about how badly they needed to catch up- but she had a meeting to get to and he was busy with his duties- and she turned the corner amid promises of a meal that they never had, missing Anakin by a second.

So when Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived in her home, she didn’t do anything for the first few minutes other than hug a very confused Obi-Wan, who eventually hugged her back with a grumble and a, “Can I let go now?” 

“Very professional.” Sabé sauntered past them and out the door, and Padmé finally stepped back from Obi-Wan, unable to control the faint blush that spread across her cheeks at Sabé’s words.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He pushed Anakin forwards from his position laughing behind him. “I assume you remember Anakin.”

“Of course.” She reached her hand out to him again, and he stepped towards her and took it with a smile. A smile that, despite the years that had passed and how much he’d grown, was the same as the one he’d given her on Tatooine when they’d first met. When she’d shot her blaster at the man behind him and changed history. When he’d taken them across the desert to see podracing and Tatooine and everything inbetween. 

But there was something else this time. Yes, they were both older, but it was more than that. The childlike smile in his eyes remained, but they weren't kids anymore, and whatever spark might have been between them before was now lighting a wildfire. They'd been friends before, yes, considering everything that they had been through, but that wasn't true anymore. And Padmé couldn't help but think that she was totally screwed.

*

“What’s the plan?”

“All the attacks so far have been at night, correct?”

“Yes.” In her bed, actually, no matter which floor of the building she moved to.

“So Anakin will dress as you.”

Obi-Wan’s words were followed by silence from both Padmé and Anakin, who glanced at each other before turning their eyes to him. And then, of course, Padmé couldn’t control herself anymore, and started laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Anakin grumbled. “I was not aware of this!”

“I thought it would be better to tell you now,” Obi-Wan shrugged, lips twitching in a smile.

“I want a new Master.”

“Not happening,” Obi-Wan broke off. “Padmé, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, and she was, because this was the exact opposite of how the leader of a planet should act when two Jedi were telling her their plan for saving her life. But on the other hand, this was exactly how the leader of a planet should act when she’d nearly died multiple times and the only plan was to have Anakin pretend to be her.  
“How will that help?” Anakin asked, seemingly resigning himself to his fate.

“Hopefully they’ll attack you thinking you’re Padmé, and then we can capture the assassin without endangering her life. They shouldn’t even know that there are Jedi on Naboo. We took precautions.”

“I’ve always wanted to die dressed as a queen.”

“Be quiet, Anakin.”

*

Anakin Skywalker didn’t die dressed as a queen, although he was shot at and would have been killed if he was Padmé’s height, because the dart hit his shoulder, which was about equivalent to her head. Why the assassins hadn’t realised the height difference she didn’t know, but both she and Anakin- who spent a total of ten minutes being treated for the injury before running to Obi-Wan to beg him to overrule the medics and let him work again- were grateful for the oversight, as was Obi-Wan who was analysing the dart and welcomed the chance to work without any distractions, sending Anakin back to bed with a wave of his hand.

To Anakin’s relief, barely a day later Obi-Wan told them he had a lead that he was going to follow. And to Anakin’s disappointment, Obi-Wan was following it alone, telling him and Padmé to go into hiding on Tatooine with Anakin’s mother; a son visiting his mother would hardly raise suspicion, and nobody would expect Padmé to go with him or even consider going to Tatooine again after her seemingly disastrous mission to meet with Jeilon at the beginning of the war.

“Does that mean we can’t do anything?” Anakin frowned as Obi-Wan left the room.

“No,” Padmé muttered, “Just that we have to do it from Tatooine. There’s no chance we’re letting Obi-Wan run off alone, and besides, we're more likely to solve it with all of us involved."

Anakin’s smirk was so similar to the one he’d given her six years ago that Padmé forgot how to breathe for a moment. “I almost prefer you as a Senator.”

“To Tatooine, then?”

“To work,” he corrected, the smirk never leaving his face.

*

They arrived on Tatooine at dusk, and Padmé stepped outside the ship and stayed standing there for a while, unable to comprehend what was happening in front of her. In so many ways- the rolling plains, the fiery pits of the suns in the sky, the dust that never quite settled- the planet hadn’t changed a bit, but there was one key difference: the silence. Gone were the sounds of fighting, the iron-clad compounds housing some of the worst people in the galaxy, the smoke billowing behind the hills, and in their place was silence. It was still barren, still desolate, still struggling, but without the factions and war and terror inspired in its inhabitants. It was a planet on the brink of peace, hanging there without knowing quite how to reach it, and Padmé couldn’t help but wonder how it would get there.

“Different, isn’t it?” She jumped at the sound of Anakin’s voice.

“Very.” She nodded towards the structure in front of them, no longer simply canvas but with some form of foundation and framework, slanted and fragile but still a vast improvement to the tent he’d lived in before. “Your mother’s?”

“She built it about three years ago when Cliegg moved in.” With his son, Owen, but the galaxy’s fate rested on the fact that Anakin never knew he had a stepbrother.

“Who?”

“Her husband.” He gestured for her to start walking. “They’ll be back soon; let’s go to the cantina to wait.”

“Shmi is married?” Padmé couldn’t help her shock but she followed Anakin the same.

Anakin grinned. “I came for the wedding and everything.”

“The Jedi in you didn’t object to such a thing?”

“The Jedi have taught me to believe that ordinary people can be happy.”

“I think that’s just the Anakin in you,” she said, and his soft smile was undercut by the shaking of his head. And of course she ignored the word ordinary, because it didn’t matter then. It was irrelevant. She couldn’t have known that they would never be ordinary; that that one tiny word was Anakin’s own cracked foundation. 

The one for his downfall.

So they kept walking towards the cantina in silence, and as they entered she turned to Anakin. “Why here?”

“Following a lead.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that before?” She stumbled as Anakin pulled her into a corner, dragging her into a couple of seats nearly invisible in the darkness. “Anakin!”

“I didn’t want to be overheard!”

“Which is why you tell me on the ship, or the walk, or any time that involves me actually knowing the information instead of you handling me like that!”

“I am technically your protector, so-” He broke off, glancing at the ground. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m being a dick.”

“Yeah, you are,” she agreed. “So…why?”

He fidgeted in his seat across the table. “I just want to figure this out. You could die. Obi-Wan could die. The war could get even more out of control. I need to fix this.”

“That’s why I’m here, so that we can do it faster. But that only works if you tell me everything you know.”

“I know.” He took a breath. “There’s a rumour that there’s going to be a strike on Tatooine by the Gungans or their allies. They’re trying to dissuade the planet from fighting on your side.”

“You still think the assassination is connected to the war.” He'd mentioned the theory on his arrival, leading to a lecture from Obi-Wan about speculating without any evidence.

“It has to be. You’re the one who declared it. The one who inspired everyone to fight. It’s been six years, Padmé, and no one else could have done what you did. With you gone?” He half-shrugged. “We don’t know what to fight for.”

“And they’ll be discussing their plan of attack in here?”

“They’re likely to. It’s where meetings happened during the civil war. It’s loud and crowded and you never see the same face twice; it’s the perfect location.”

“Well, we look like we’re having a meeting, so go get us a couple of drinks and act natural. Or not natural for you, I guess.”

“Coming from the queen.” He shook his head and stood up, coming back minutes later with two drinks, sliding one across to her. “How do we act natural, then?”

She downed her drink with a cough, eyes scanning the room. “Come over here.”

“What?”

“You’re still sitting across there, you look ridiculous. Come over here.”

And then he was standing over her, pulling her up with one hand and crowding her against the wall behind them, hands on either side of her head as he leaned in towards her.

“Look behind me,” he whispered. “See those three people at the bar?”

Padmé thanked every god that she could think of for the fact that her drink was kicking in quickly, slowing her stuttering heartbeat at the sight of Anakin looming over her, breaths away from touching. And, of course, there were three figures at the bar to the right of Anakin’s shoulder, two with their backs to her and one with a folded piece of parchment in front of him.

So she did the logical thing and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, standing on her toes to speak into his ear. “That’s probably a map with them.”

“Likely,” he murmured, dipping his head so that she could feel the hint of his breath on her neck, and it took every muscle in her body to keep from flinching at the contact. “They used to work with one of the warlords here, Shia. She was killed five years ago but those three went into hiding with all her money. There were rumours they’d been working as bounty hunters since, and they’ve always been working for the highest bidder. A strike on Tatooine would be their sort of deal.”

Padmé glanced away from him. “For someone who’s been travelling the galaxy, you still do know a lot about Tatooine.”

“I’d love to say that it’s my home, but really it’s hard to forget for the opposite reason.” And then he was leaning closer to her so that she was forced to look up at him, and now his hand was sliding down her back as he spoke. “To tell you the truth, I really hate sand.”

She managed to give a snort that turned into a laugh, and he shook his head.

“There are perfectly valid reasons to hate sand.”

“Like what?” She looked towards the men at the bar. “I’m going to go over there.”

“Be careful,” he said before starting to list his sand woes, “You have to understand. It’s coarse; it’s rough; it’s irritating-”

“So are you right now!” She called behind her, and he grinned.

“And it gets everywhere!” He shouted after her, and she shook her head as she slid into the seat next to the man with the parchment.

“You don’t mind, do you?” She asked, and he gestured at the bar in front of him.

“We’re not exactly short on space.”

“That’s true.” She nodded at the parchment. “Working on anything?”

“Agriculture plans, actually.” He unfolded it to show her. “Moisture farming is one of Tatooine’s only potential industries, but we need money to start it off. I’ve been trying to get meetings with agriculture committees on different planets for months, but this war is a logistical nightmare.”

“I’ve actually got a few friends who work in agriculture. I could get them to try and invest in Tatooine.” Padmé. Padmé was the friend with the money and the committees, but he didn’t need to know that, and the least she could do was try and help Tatooine recover, so she decided to send Toll a message about helping Tatooine start moisture farming. Whatever that was.

“That would be incredible,” the man grinned. “On behalf of Tatooine, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She turned in her seat. “I should get back to my…”

What the hell was Anakin?

“Of course.” He waved her away. “It’s been great to talk with you.”

“And you.” She shook her head as she approached Anakin. “Nothing, although he did have some brilliant ideas about a completely different topic.”

“As interesting as that sounds-”

“Lies.”

“That means this was useless. We should get back to my mother’s anyway.”

*  
There was smoke billowing over the dune, and Padmé felt her heart stop. This didn't just feel wrong or out of place on a planet preaching peace, this was the sign of something far deadlier than ever should have been on Tatooine again. That is, aside from the man standing next to her.

They crested the hill and Anakin started running.

Shmi’s house was in flames, orange crackling against the yellow sand as beams collapsed into it, with sparks flying up as illuminated as stars against the ink-blotted sky, and Anakin was frozen in front of it, the glow forming a halo of hellfire around his head as flames replaced the playfulness dancing in his eyes.

And then there was nothing but hardened resolve as he pushed past her, pulling his lightsabre out as he did, stopping and spinning around when she called his name.

“Don’t!” He shouted. “Just stay there, don’t follow me, don’t try to stop me-”

She saw his lips form the word 'please' at the end, but it was lost to the winds and the crack in his throat and as badly as she wanted to help this broken man she knew there was no chance for someone who’d just seen his mother crumble into nothingness, and so she stood there, ash settling around her like snow, praying that he would come back not okay but alive. She knew he would never be okay after this, that the joking Anakin was most likely gone forever, that this would be why the Jedi aimed for a lack of emotion, that this would be rash and uncontrollable and uncaged anger, and that going after him would do the opposite of make things better. It didn’t matter that he didn’t care anymore. He needed to stay alive.

Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been the start of my version of attack of the clones. enjoy.


End file.
